Stanford and Sam
by BlueEyedDemonLiz
Summary: A collection of shorts about my take on how Sam adapted, or didn't, to life away from his family at Stanford.
1. Chapter 1

_A collection of shorts about Sam's time at Stanford. I've read and loved many Stanford stories, so I couldn't help but add my efforts to the pile. This wasn't a planned collection just something which was furiously typed out early one morning so all mistakes are mine. Please excuse the sucky title and summary._

_Usual disclaimers apply._

**Stanford and Sam**

The library was his sanctuary, his quiet place in the bustling Stanford University campus. He spent more time there than anywhere else, even more so than his tiny sparsely furnished one bedroom apartment.

His always chose the same table, towards the back of the library. The lighting there was dim so not ideal for reading but Sam could observe the entire layout of the place by simply raising his head – _old habits die hard I guess. _

He'd first noticed her around six months after arriving at Stanford; she was casually strolling along the aisles of books, seemingly deep in thought. His first glance was not his last and he caught himself staring over the top of his book. She was beautiful; tall and graceful, with curled blonde hair that flowed down her shoulders. Sam was not a poetic guy, being raised by hardened hunters had seen to that but he'd read enough to know that she was the sort of girl who inspired poetry.

After that, he found himself waiting for her. His face no longer buried in his books. Sometimes she came alone, sometimes with friends but each and every time she took his breath away.

"You're like a May morning." Sam thought, only he actually said it aloud because before he could stop himself the words had tripped off his tongue and stumbled out of his mouth. His face coloured quickly as he realised what he'd said and he got up to leave fumbling awkwardly to pick up his books.

"You're unusual Sam Winchester" Jess replied.

_She knows my name_. Sam's tongue felt huge now and stuck to the roof of his mouth. "Thanks, I guess." He stuttered realising his name would never sound as sweet to him again as it did right now.

"I follow you around for weeks, waiting, hoping that you'll speak to me and then when you do...you say the single most beautiful thing about me that I've ever heard." Jess said, a small smile lighting up her face in a way that made Sam's body tingle.

"I..." Sam began but Jess pressed gentle fingers against his lips.

"Shhhhhh don't spoil it." With that she was gone, her soft curls bouncing on her shoulders as she walked away.

Sam made to stand up, wanting to follow but his eyes fell upon a piece of folded paper, resting upon the open pages of his book. He opened it slowly, fingers trembling. It was a phone number and the name 'Jessica Moore' written in beautiful curved handwriting and finished with a doodled flower which she had given eyes and a huge grin. Sam smiled to himself, the biggest dimpled smile his face could manage without aching.

Sam didn't spend so much time in the library after that.

**SNSNSNSNSNSN**

Their first real dinner date took place at a late night diner called Jaspers; neither of them were exactly rolling in cash but the company alone made Jess feel loaded. Sam settled himself into a booth, his long legs meaning that his knees were bunched under his chin in the confined space. Jess giggled and Sam frowned at her before they both broke out laughing helplessly at the absurdity of it all.

They sat there for a long while, time speeding by unnoticed as they talked, swapping jokes about their classes and class mates whilst attacking their food with gusto. Jess took the opportunity to let her eyes wander over Sam whilst he talked, drinking in the fine details of his face. She adored the way his nose crinkled when he smiled and how his hazel eyes darted away embarrassed whenever he was paid a compliment. It hadn't escaped her notice how completely oblivious Sam was to just how attractive girls, and certain boys, found him and her roommate had been unashamedly jealous when she and Sam had first started dating. Jess ate happily, stealing the occasional french fry from Sam's plate and he ended up finishing off her huge slab of apple pie, everything felt so good she thought to herself that she could look at him forever.

As they left the diner to head out on foot for Jess' dormitory, an intimidating huge hulk of a man stepped out from the darkness of a nearby shop doorway blocking their path. He quickly produced a handgun which he shoved in their startled faces before demanded money. Sam, Jess' gentle and loving Sam, moved swiftly with practised ease. He stepped forward, effectively creating a barrier between the man and Jess, before he sucker punched the man and made a grab for the gun. Jess barely had time to acknowledge her terror, it all happened so quickly. One minute the man was up waving his gun around and the next, he was kissing tarmac, out for the count and Sam was emptying bullets from the gun's chamber onto the sidewalk. Sam didn't seem shocked, like having a gun wedged under your nostrils was a normal everyday occurrence for him, he just seemed mightily pissed off as he earnestly asked for assurance that Jess was unharmed.

A couple of months later in early August, Jess had put on her favourite summer dress and had hurried to meet Sam in the park for lunch. Sam was late and she sat on their usual bench, admiring the view and lapping up the warm sunshine when someone sat down next to her. Jess recognised him in an instant as a guy named Tony who worked as a Barista at the Starbucks just outside the Stanford campus, a regular haunt for very nearly all the Stanford students. It was a Sunday and the park was packed with people out to enjoy the fine weather but Tony had made Jess feel isolated and fearful the moment he had stuck his hand on her knee.

"Don't." Jess said through clenched teeth, shoving his hand away and moving to get up.

He grabbed for her wrist and gripped it hard. "Don't be like that pretty Jessica, I know you like me." Tony yanked her wrist so that she was sat down beside him again.

Jess didn't hear anyone approach but suddenly Sam was there, grabbing Tony and hoisting him up by the collar of his jacket with one strong hand. A woman pushing a baby in a pram stopped to gawk at them open-mouthed as Sam shoved Tony down to the ground, thrusting Tony's face into the long grass. Sam leaned over him, his mouth close to Tony's ear. "If I ever, _ever_, see you near her again I will hurt you."

Jess had seen this same Sam that night outside the diner, tough unshakeable Sam, but it still astonished her. As Sam loosened his death grip on the back of Tony's head, Tony got up promptly stuttering an apology and ran. As he disappeared from view, Sam's entire body seemed to uncoil, tension diminishing by the second and he slumped beside Jess on the bench. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" Sam asked, his tender fingers probing the wrist which Jess didn't realise she was cradling.

Jess turned to look at Sam, relief evident on her beautiful face.

"I'm going to get you a personal attack alarm." Sam muttered frowning as he examined the skin of her wrist for bruising.

"Are you kidding me?" Jess said breathlessly, letting a shaky smile dance on her lips, "I've got you."

**SNSNSNSNSNSN**

Sam's past was a mystery to Jess, a vast infinite mystery that she promised herself she would unravel sooner or later. She tried, frequently, by asking about his childhood and his family but such questions were always met with the same response. Sam would shift uncomfortably and his face would grow pained. Jess didn't want that; she wanted to know everything about Sam but not at such a price, so after awhile she simply stopped asking.

Later however, as the blissful first few weeks of dating advanced into blissful months, right out of the blue Sam started opening up about his memories. Jess, too stunned to interrupt, would crane her neck forward hastily to listen. Sometimes Sam paused mid sentence, his gaze becoming distant and Jess would prod him in the ribs, his right side where he was ticklish, just to make him grin and draw him out of his reverie.

Sam brought up the subject of his older brother, Dean, more than once and odd things seemed to prompt Sam's sudden remembrances of his brother. Like the time he took Jess to the gallery exhibition she had been talking about for weeks. Sam stood for an age staring at one painting in particular and didn't even look round when Jess joined him at his side, planting her hand into his. He grasped it gratefully, giving it a brief tight squeeze. "Dad had a leather jacket which he gave Dean as an 18th birthday present. I was jealous at first, till I realised what the jacket represented. To dad, it meant following in his footsteps, moulding Dean to be more like him. I wasn't so jealous of Dean after that." Sam offered her a sad smile and moved away towards the other exhibits. Jess paused for a moment to look at the painting. It depicted a young man stood alone on a desolate hillside; hunched in a worn brown coat as though bracing himself against a ferocious storm.

Jess learned quickly that Sam's memories were not always unhappy ones. One morning, she woke to find Sam missing from their bed. She'd struggled out from under the snug covers to find Sam in the kitchen, singing along to the radio whilst making a pot of coffee. Sam smiled warmly when he saw her before reaching out a hand to turn up the music. He playfully grabbed Jess around the waist, spinning her around the small kitchen. "Dean loves this song." Sam chirped gleefully and right at that moment, Jess knew she loved it too.

**SNSNSNSNSNSN**

Sam had a preference for baggy clothes that, much to Jess' surprise and obvious delight, hid a muscular well-toned body. He kept his hair long and when Sam dipped his head, chestnut strands falling forward to cover his eyes it became a precursor Jess recognised as Sam's way of dealing with situations where he felt out of place or uncomfortable. Jess saw it rarely but if they ever found themselves amongst large groups of people, Sam's posture took on an air, which made him appear lost and forlorn. In those rare moments, Jess would press herself into his side, snaking an arm around his waist before dipping her hand to rest in the back pocket of his jeans.

Sam kept secrets, secrets that gave him nightmares but it wasn't until they had moved in together that Jess realised just how badly. Sam often woke in the early hours of the morning, sitting bolt upright in bed, her name and the names of his father and brother ripped from his mouth in a pained scream. Jess slept so lightly that more often than not she awoke too. She would put a hand on his shoulder, easing him backwards until his head was resting on his pillow once more then she would run a hand repeatedly through his hair until his eyelids fluttered closed. Jess let her leg wrap around his body, Sam's breathing would steady as sleep regained its hold of him. Jess would find herself laying there awake, Sam held tight against her as his trembling subsided, wondering exactly when the protector had become the protected.

**SNSNSNSNSNSN**

Their first Christmas brought them closer together than ever before but Jess was still figuring out how little she really knew about Sam Winchester. Mid December, she had decorated their tiny apartment and in the corner of the room placed a real Christmas tree adorned with hand made garlands. Sam had been delighted and his huge smile was worth every moment of effort. Their happiness at sharing Christmas together temporarily erased the dark cloud which had hung over them ever since the appalling murders which had occurred earlier in the month. All three of the murder victims had been female Stanford students and the Police presence at the University only served to enhance growing fears that there was a dangerous serial killer on the loose. Sam had become extra cautious when checking their apartment doors and windows were securely locked at night and Jess had finally agreed to carry an attack alarm whenever she went out alone.

Christmas Eve had been perfect. They'd stayed up late, watching Christmas specials on television and drinking home-made egg nog before stumbling off to bed comfortably drunk. Jess woke whilst it was still dark and sobered up the instant she heard a clatter and realised Sam wasn't in bed. She lifted her head to see the bathroom light was on, soft light spilling out from under the closed door. She climbed out of bed and wandered over to the door. She could hear movement coming from the other side and was ready to knock when she heard Sam gasp in pain. Instead of knocking, Jess pushed the door ajar tentatively, taking a sharp breath when she saw Sam sat on the edge of the bath, blood dripping down his hand forming a crimson puddle on the floor from a wound which was hidden from view by his jacket. He looked up at her, his face grimy and eyes laden with exhaustion.

"Sam?" Jess whispered, somewhat frightened by the weary look in his eyes.

"It's okay...I'm okay." Sam said trying to get up.

She quickly stepped forwards, reaching out a hand to ease him out of his jacket. Once the jacket had been removed, Jess could see there was a series of deep puncture marks on his forearm. She took a soft towel and pressed it against his skin, wincing in sympathy as she put pressure on the wounds. "Did a dog bite you?" The question sound ludicrous to her own ears even as she said it. Sam had seemed pretty inebriated and had been in bed with her only a few hours before. Now he was dressed, sober as a judge and bloodied. Nothing about it made any sense.

She noticed straight away as Sam lowered his head, his hair hanging forwards shielding his eyes. "Yeah, just a dumb dog." Sam muttered trying too hard to sound like he was amused. Jess chewed her lip and nodded weakly. Sam was smart in a way which made Jess' head pound but when he lied, he was as transparent as a five year old stealing cookies before dinner time. No more was said about it but Jess held firm to the belief that Sam would tell her the truth when he was ready.

A few weeks later, a report appeared in the papers saying that the serial killer must have left the area because there were no further mysterious murders at Stanford University. In fact, the Police were puzzled. Jess read the article with a confused frown. No more mysterious murders sure, just plenty of mysterious unanswered questions.

-0-

_I'm planning on doing __another chapter of Stanford shorts __which will__ included __an actual appearance by __Dean__ (maybe John too I'm still not sure)__ as this feels a little unfinished__. Despite being a total Sam girl, I do love me some Dean. Please let me know if you'd like to read more..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Unlike the first chapter, __what follows is__ more of an entire short story in itself. Starting off with a little reminiscing from Sam, it'll explain exactly how Sam came to be bleeding all over the bathroom floor Christmas Eve. __I reckon it'll take up the next 2 chapters so I h__ope you'll enjoy__ it and not mind me straying from the shorts theme? __Best laid plans and all that...or no plans__ whatsoever__...as __seems to be__ my usual preference. _

_Thanks & hugs to all those who've read and reviewed, y__our reviews have been __wonderful__ and just the push I needed_

**Stanford and Sam**

Christmas was approaching fast and Sam was worried. Worried about the recent hunt, which had landed right on his Stanford doorstep yes, but just of late, he was worried about exactly what on earth to get Jess for Christmas. Buying Christmas presents wasn't exactly new to him but buying for a female sure was. The Winchesters never exactly _did_ Christmas, at least, not like the Christmases Sam had watched on television or seen in movies. He'd never run downstairs in his pyjamas to open a mountain of presents as his dad sat watching contentedly sucking on a pipe with his carpet slippered feet resting on a futon. In reality the whole suggestion of John Winchester in a pair of carpet slippers seemed too ridiculous to Sam for words.

John had always bought his sons presents for Christmas, never failed to do so. Although sometimes the presents came a little late, _February_, and were typically items John considered important. Important if your sole purpose in life was hunting. Last Christmas Sam had received a new bowie knife from his dad. It was a fine knife there was no denying that fact and Sam had thanked his dad with a big smile slapped right across his chops. The smile which had been solely for John's benefit slipped away once John left the room.

Dean on the other hand, despite his whole 'I'm allergic to sentiment' facade, did pay close attention to the things Sam considered important. After displaying what he'd deemed to be appropriate amounts of joy over his knife, Sam had sat on his bed with his back pressed against the headboard, absentmindedly slipping his new present in and out of its sheath. Dean had entered the bedroom they shared, unceremoniously hurling the paper bag he was carrying so that it landed on the bed at his brother's feet. "Ho ho hoe bitch."

"What's this?" Sam had frowned, prodding at the bag with his big toe.

"Why don't you open it genius." Dean's brash smile had been replaced with a huge warm one and he was virtually hopping from one foot to the other.

Sam raised an eyebrow and reached for the paper bag. He'd opened it and pulled out a battered paperback novel, staring dazedly at the cover. "The Great Gatsby?"

"It's the right one, isn't it?" Dean's smile wavered ever so slightly but didn't disappear.

"How did you…" Sam began.

Dean winked, his face positively beaming now. "Guess sometimes I can still hear you whining on about books despite the fingers stuck in my ears."

Sam adored the copy of 'The Great Gatsby' Bobby gave him when he turned fourteen. Sam had carried the book around with him everywhere, reading and re-reading it until one day, three years later, it got left behind in a motel room in New Orleans and Sam didn't realise his carelessness until the Impala was 200 miles in the opposite direction. There was no going back just for an old book John had remarked, adding how Sam should learn a lesson from his negligence. The copy Sam held in his hands that Christmas morning was identical, right down to the faded yellow cover. Sam had sat up higher on his bed, opening up the book before beginning to read fervently. A genuine smile slapped on his face.

**SNSNSNSNSNSN**

His first Christmas Eve in Palo Alto and hunting had found its way back into Sam's life once more. Sam was convinced now there was a werewolf residing somewhere in the housing estate, which surrounded the Stanford University campus. The lunar cycle was exactly right and the fact the victims had all been female made it highly likely the werewolf was a predatory male, heck, maybe even a male Stanford student. Whilst Sam had done a little research into possible suspects, he also had a hunch which had been growing steadily stronger and more persistent over the past few days.

Sam had never hunted alone and more specifically he'd never hunted a werewolf. However this was his home now and he couldn't sit around idle whilst there was a chance innocent people, Jess included, were at risk.

He felt awful about giving Jess egg nog laced with a large quantity of brandy especially when his own glass was filled with a decidedly non-alcoholic version but he had to hunt tonight, Christmas Eve or not, it was the last full moon of the cycle. There were lives at stake tonight and however much his dad might believe Sam didn't care about saving lives, he actually did, _immensely_. Saving the lives of others had always been a huge burden of responsibility for Sam. For as much as he felt beyond euphoric whenever they saved a life, the guilt caused by those he and his family couldn't save gnawed away at his spirit and the crushing sense of his own failure was almost too much for Sam to take.

He had turned his back on hunting for that exact reason. He'd never meant to turn his back on his dad and certainly never on Dean but John Winchester had laid that down as the cost for his freedom and so it became that leaving hunting meant leaving them too. In an exchange overflowing with a flood of hate filled words, Sam made his decision and it hurt so profoundly he had thrown up as he walked alone to the bus station. Dean had witnessed it all, the Sam and John fight to end all fights. In the midst of the vicious clash, Sam had glanced over at his brother who sat uncharacteristically pale and resolutely silent at the dining table, fingers busily scraping at the worn wooden surface. For all the times Dean had stepped up to the plate to rescue Sam over the years, Sam had never felt as alone as he did right at that moment. Whilst he sat on the Greyhound bus winding its way towards a new life in California, too exhausted to feel anything but numb, he had searched in his rucksack for his copy of 'The Great Gatsby' but failed to find it amongst his hastily packed crumpled clothes. Fresh tears welled in his sore bloodshot eyes as he'd realised he'd left more than just his book behind this time.

**SNSNSNSNSNSN**

It hadn't been hard pretending to be a little drunk, he'd spent most of his life weaving lies, impersonating other people and perhaps trying to be normal was his biggest pretence yet. As he waited for Jess to fall asleep, he observed her peaceful face and felt guilty. He wondered if she'd love Sam Winchester if she really knew him. He'd wanted to tell her the truth, _God_ so badly. Many times the words had been right there, posed on the tip of his tongue, before he'd forced himself to swallow them again. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing distrust in her eyes, the thought of how the truth could cause his Jessica to look at him, not with love but with a combination of fear and revulsion.

When her breathing settled into a deep steady rhythm and Sam knew she was fast asleep, he climbed quietly from their bed. He paused as he did so and reached out a hand, which he let hover for a moment over her hair before moving away through the dark bedroom to quickly pull on some clothes and gather together his weaponry.

Sam eased himself quietly through the front door. It was a little after midnight and the streets surrounding their apartment were deserted. As he closed the door behind him and started to walk down the steps he froze at the sight of a figure sat in the shadows.

-0-

_Hated it? Loved it? Please review and let me know, any critism is always welcome and greatly valued. More up soon._


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for the kind reviews__ I can't begin to tell you how much they are appreciated.__ I would have had this chapter up sooner but a close friend suffered a tragedy which put any plans I had of writing on the back burner for a couple of days._

**Stanford and Sam - Chapter 3**

Sam felt a twinge of hope which he didn't want to acknowledge. It was Christmas Eve after all, was it really so weird to want to see your brother, _or your father. _Sitting out here in the dark wouldn't be a completely un-Winchester thing to do either, Sam thought, especially when said father or brother might be uncertain of their welcome. As he moved down the steps towards the figure, Sam saw John in his mind's eye. The way his father's smile would break without warning across a usually serious and sombre face, like the sun peeking its head from behind the clouds after a storm. Sam could almost see his dad stepping from the shadows, spreading his arms wide to wrap Sam in an embrace which still translated into warmth and protection no matter how grown up Sam was. Heck, maybe whilst John's face was pressed into Sam's hair he'd even whisper the word 'proud' into his son's ear.

His defences down, Sam moved towards the figure, feeling an involuntary smile turning up the corners of his mouth. The smile vanished when the figure sat, _crouch__ed_, in the shadows let out a low guttural growl. Hope smashed to a thousand pieces only to be replaced with dread which hit like a bitter punch to the gut. Sam was armed, he always was armed one way or another, this time however he only had a small steel throwing knife tucked into the back of his jeans. His gun, complete with several rounds of silver bullets, was stuck in the bottom of the bag he was carrying. He hadn't exactly anticipated the hunt coming to find him. Sam's tongue licked over his dry lips slowly as he realised the mistake could cost him dearly.

Sam had never seen a werewolf before. He'd read a hell of a lot about them and had the fine details of the werewolf kill Dean made when he was fourteen and a ten year old Sam was being babysat at Pastor Jims pretty much stamped on his brain but the sight of this werewolf now, the meagre light from the streetlamps reflecting off its glassy predator eyes, made Sam cold right down to his boots.

If anything Sam had expected more fur and definitely not for any human features to be so clearly recognisable after the transformation. As the creature advanced forwards so that it was fully exposed by the yellow pools of streetlight, Sam knew that his hunch on the identity of the werewolf had been exactly right. Tony growled for a second time, his lips rising to reveal rows of razor sharp teeth. Sam fought a strange 'Dean like' urge to snigger when he saw that Tony was still dressed in his Starbucks uniform, albeit it was somewhat ripped to shreds but the logo was plenty noticeable. It had never struck Sam before whether or not the human side of the werewolf was aware of what was happening, as far as his father had been concerned the only instructions had been to shoot a werewolf not psychoanalysis the damn thing. Tony had tracked Jessica down or perhaps he'd not come for Jessica, not yet anyway. Perhaps he'd come to take Sam out first, remove the rival so to speak. Whatever, it still seemed calculated Sam thought, and if he didn't do something fast he was going to end up dog food.

Years of training kicked into play as Sam's hand flew to yank his knife from the back of his jeans. With practiced aim, he threw the knife before leaping the last few steps and taking off in a run praying to God his throw had found its target. Whilst it wouldn't cause much damage, it would at least serve the purpose of giving him something of a head start. Sparing a fleeting glance over his shoulder, he could see Tony had already recovered from the hit and was racing after Sam, running so swiftly that even Sam's long legs couldn't outpace the thing for very long. Sam headed for the park; he couldn't risk bumping into any civilians. Although it was late the chances of running into groups of students drunk on Christmas spirit and cheap cider was pretty high. Sam panted as he neared the park and took shelter in amongst the trees. He dropped his bag to the ground and dove into it, scrabbling to get to his gun.

He heard Tony snarl as vicious pointed claws swiped, tearing into the tender flesh of Sam's arm. Warm blood poured, instantly making his skin sticky and uncomfortably damp. Sam fell backwards hard, his head connecting with a rock and his vision did the shimmy as he struggled to raise his gun with a shaky hand. More animal than human Tony moved effortlessly on all fours until he was leaning over Sam, savouring the moment. Hot breath hit Sam's face whilst drool dripped from Tony's teeth splashing onto Sam's cheek. Sam pushed the barrel of his gun against Tony's chest and screwed his eyes closed tight, wondering whether it'd be his shot or Tony's killing blow which would strike first.

Sam fired. The blast was at such close range that for a moment his ears were ringing. It took another moment for Sam to release he was still breathing. Sam prised his eyes open grudgingly. The blow to the back of his head had made him nauseous and as he saw Tony's body, a hole in his chest gaping, Sam rolled onto his side and vomited. Falling back onto the soft earth, Sam lay there winded, staring at the sky. Stars twinkled down at him through the trees and he felt like weeping but closed his eyes again and bit down hard on his lip instead.

"SAMMY?" The voice was distant but comfortingly familiar.

Sam's eyes cracked open and he raised his pounding head. His heart hammering in his chest it took all of his restraint not to scream. "D-Dean! I'm here." Sam shouted, hating himself for how his voice cracked on his brother's name.

"Sammy?" Dean crashed through the trees. Fear for his little brother had conquered the emotional shield Dean carried and instead Dean's face wore a look of pained desperation as plain as day.

Sam let himself sink back, his eyes closing once more as he teetered on the edge of consciousness. He felt strong hands pulling him into a sitting position and he let his face rest on a shoulder which smelled of leather. Gentle fingers trailed the length of his spine, assessing for injury before moving up to touch the goose egg forming on the back of his head. Sam hissed, before burying himself further into the shoulder. His relief was palpable. Dean was here. "Thank God."

Sam hadn't meant to actually say it but Dean must have heard for there was a hitch in his breathing before his wit regained control. "Not God, just Dean...unless of course you meant Sex God?"

"How?" Sam couldn't seem to find the words to say more but Dean understood.

"We still check the newspapers; dad had it sussed as a werewolf so we came."

"For the werewolf?_" __Not for me?_ Sam's tone was incredulous but it was quickly swapped for hopefulness as he hadn't missed the 'we' part. "Is Dad here?"

"Oh yeah, he's in the car. Thought we might do a little family Christmas carolling, maybe even recreate a nativity scene...you could be Mary."

"Don't patronise me Dean."

Dean put a hand under Sam's chin, raising his brother's face so he could check his pupils. "Took a nasty blow there Sammy, what were you thinking, hunting alone?" Dean's gruffness had softened some.

Sam bit back the urge to say how he _was_ alone now. "Where's dad?" Sam tried again.

"There's a malicious poltergeist case in Sacramento, I told him I'd got this one covered."

"He's on another hunt?" Sam couldn't hide his disappointment.

"That's what we do Sammy, hunt, save lives." Dean put his hands under Sam's arms and pulled him to standing before stepping away. Sam wobbled precariously and Dean quickly reached out again, putting an arm around Sam's waist and pulling Sam's arm over his shoulder. "Let's get you to the car okay, the first aid kit is in the glove box, I need to take a look at that cut."

"No I'm fine, just...just take me home."

Dean looked hurt. Months apart hadn't dampened his need to play big brother, Sam's protector. "I could take a look?"

"Dean, I'm fine. Anyway shouldn't you be helping dad, saving lives?" Sam hadn't meant to sound bitter.

"Huh! Well there's a werewolf corpse I've got to dispose of first or did you forget that? Maybe you've gotten a little sloppy from all the sitting around in libraries studying?"

Sam pulled himself away from Dean's grasp. "I don't know why the hell you came. I handled it just fine without you."

Dean's jaw clenched as he stood uncertainly. Sam staggered and Dean didn't hesitate then to resume his post at Sam's side, "I'm still your big brother." Dean said nearly inaudibly.

Sam didn't have a biting retort for that one.

They made their way to the Impala in silence. Sam sat in the passenger seat, Dean's seat, letting his eyes absorb the sight of the familiar interior which had been his only true home before he'd met Jessica. Now he had another home which was as far removed from the confines of the Impala as you could get. Soft comfort and snug warmth had taken the place of hard upholstered seats.

They drove and the silence was unrelenting. When they pulled to a halt outside Sam's apartment, Sam glanced over at Dean who had lent forwards, reaching into the glove box. "I said I'm fine, I can take care of the cut myself."

But Dean didn't pull out the first aid kit. Instead he pulled out an instantly recognizable tatty paperback which he held out to Sam.

Sam reached out hesitantly and took it. Gaping stupidly at it for what seemed like an eternity. "Dean..."

"Save it, stick it on a postcard or better yet you could just pick up a phone and call me. You know, when you're not too busy doing university stuff."

All bitterness had faded and Sam felt only profound love for his brother. Love which had never gone away, only been buried for awhile. "I will."

Sam climbed out, before leaning into the car to take a long look at Dean. "Tell dad I..."

Dean held up a hand "I know and he does love you Sam." Dean started the ignition. "Stay safe little brother, I can't keep nipping to Cali every time I think your ass needs saving."

Sam watched the Impala drive away. It wasn't until after he'd got back inside, closing the door behind him that he realised Dean hadn't needed directions to find his apartment.

-0-

_One more chapter to go, returning to the shorts collection theme of Chapter One._


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks for your patience. I'm definitely __**snodding**__ this weekend (anyone reading the awesome fanfic 'Energies and Ice cream' __by Katecyrus __will know exactly what I mean.) Guess that what comes from writing 3 different fics, reading, watching, dreaming SN. No word of a lie, I__ only had 4 hours kip last nigh__t. S__erious snod alert!_

_I had a struggle with this last chapter, don't really know why but I'm not 100 happy so might tweak at it later. _

**Stanford & Sam – Chapter 4**

Christmas morning and Jess was sat up in bed with her back against the headboard; Sam laid in her arms reading a book she hadn't even know he possessed. Jess leant forward resting her chin on Sam's head, strands of his hair tickling against her nose as her lips give his head an affectionate kiss.Sam startled from his absorption on the book, glanced up at her with a quick smile. "So, this Christmas doesn't suck." He said with a contented sigh.

"You ever had one that did?" Jess asked only half-seriously because Christmas had always been about good times for her.

"Most of them I guess." His eyes deftly returning to his book and Jess now knew better than to press Sam for more details. His glance away had closed the subject. He had done so gently and without the need for saddened words but he'd closed the door to it just the same.

The sight of the tightly wrapped bandage on his forearm, earned a frown as she gazed at it. Some dried blood had matted the back of Sam's hair and Jess was certain it had nothing to do with some dumb dog. It worried her, Sam's avoidance of the truth, it clawed away in the depths of her stomach but she ignored it because she trusted Sam and that trust was enough to keep her worry locked away.

She hugged him closely and stroked at his hair, combing down the errant locks as she promised herself she would make this Christmas something to remember. He needed a few more happy Christmas memories after all.

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Sam struggled without Dean. Before he had Jess it had been worse, of course, much worse. Having Jess made Sam feel grounded again but before Jess, those first six months after arriving at Stanford were tough. He had never felt more unhappy and lonely. Sam had always been determinedly resolute, "pig headed" John called it, and so Sam didn't admit the cruel stab of regret he _(wasn't)_ feeling for leaving his family. Sam made friends easily. Moving around all the time when growing up had equipped him well with such skills but friends, especially the casual friends he made in the short time he'd been at Stanford still weren't family. He wasn't bonded to them by blood or years of nurturing. Sam had walked all his life with Dean at his side, matching Dean's step, seeking him out in crowds, learning, growing from Dean's example. Sam would never admit it, especially to Dean but his older brother had taught him a lot and much of what he had learned he put in to practice at Stanford. Sam made his new Stanford buddies laugh with jokes Dean had told him. He shrugged away his own tendency towards shyness and pushed forward an air of wit and confidence, which Sam skilfully exuded but knew didn't belong to him, they were Dean's traits after all not Sam's.

Sam felt lost without Dean and it both surprised and embarrassed him to acknowledge his neediness. After all, he'd got what he'd wanted, hadn't he? He wasn't hunting anymore _(Starbucks employees turned werewolf aside)_, he was safe and had all the time in the world for studying but instead he missed the familiarity of long established routine. Hunching over a laptop to do research, disassembling and cleaning weapons, wrestling over who got the first shower but most of all sitting around shabby motel rooms passing time talking crap with Dean.Jess gave Sam someone to care for and someone to care for him. Someone who noticed if he was unhappy or ill and cared enough to do something about it, although Dean's tactics had differed some. If Sam was ever ill and Dean wanted to cheer his little brother up he'd tell crude jokes, pull out a deck of cards and settle himself by Sam's bedside. Sam would groan at the jokes, whine about losing at poker and bitch about Dean's choice in television programme but he wanted Dean there. Even if it did mean sitting through re-runs of 'Happy Days' whilst Dean guffawed loudly over every Fonzie line until Sam threatened to sneeze on him, or vomit on him, depending on how much of a pissy little brother Sam was feeling. Sam adored Jess, could imagine spending the rest of his life with her but whilst Jess fitted in the gaping chasm Dean had left in Sam's life she still didn't fill it.

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His father was another matter. Whilst Dean had left a chasm, John had left a wound which wouldn't heal. Thinking about Dean hurt but still made Sam smile with brotherly affection. Thinking about John just plain hurt. Sam and his father were undeniably too damn similar but too damn different at the same time. Both were stubborn, passionate and fiercely argumentative when their passions collided. Each equally convinced of the importance of their differing causes. Sam had battled against his father's imposed choice of life for his sons and took the first real chance at an escape he had. But he still loved his father.

Sam missed seeing the look of calm which would rest on Dean's face when he and Sam were being watched over by their father. John brought them both a sense of security which neither could deny. Dean was often exhausted, sometimes injured and on occasion his face would betray the weight of responsibility he carried but any lines of pain or despair would gradually melt away when Dean had him and John. When there were no father/son battles being fought, just Winchester men spending time together, Dean would be at peace. Sam knew Dean had paid a price too when Sam had left for Stanford.

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Sam had the most intense hazel eyes Jessica had ever seen. Sam kept secrets and lied. Sam was affectionate and strangely old fashioned with his manners in a way which made most women want to either bed him or adopt him. Sam had scars, not one or two like most people would boast about, Jess had counted eleven. Sam always remembered the little things and when he made Jess a coffee he never forgot to add the cinnamon stick, which she adored. Sam had been abandoned by his family or perhaps he had abandoned them. Sam was her first real love and Jess didn't care about anything else.

-end-


End file.
